


a brand new world

by rynoa29



Series: the pink spider collection [1]
Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynoa29/pseuds/rynoa29
Summary: Something... feels wrong. Renzou can’t quite put his finger on it, but he can tell right away, from the moment he opens his eyes, that something is different.
Series: the pink spider collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998100
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	a brand new world

Something... feels wrong. Renzou can’t quite put his finger on it, but he can tell right away, from the moment he opens his eyes, that something is different. Something is strange, almost disorientingly so. 

At first he tries to make nothing of it. It’s far too early, he’s just woken up. But as Renzou sits up on his bed, the oddness becomes more noticeable. His body feels light... small... His skin doesn’t feel right. And yet it does. There’s something foreign nagging at his conscience but the more he tries to think about it, the more the sensation slips away. He wonders if it’s just a remnant of a dream, but his vision is far from heavy with sleep. It’s sharp, sharper than it's ever been. There’s a hairline crack on the wall in front of him that he’s never noticed before. Renzou tilts his head as he stares at it curiously, wondering how it’s never caught his attention before. It’s hardly the first time he’s started his day staring blankly ahead, trying to sort out his thoughts. 

What time is it, anyway?

As Renzou turns his head to look at the clock on his bedside table, he absentmindedly scratches the back of his head. A sharp pain has him drawing his hand almost instantly, wincing, and—

There’s blood clinging onto the sharp, pointy black ends of his nails. Renzou stares at them in shock. It’s not just the nails that have him wide-eyed; it’s not just the blood. His skin… Black, swirling patterns extend across his hands and forearms, both of them, disappearing up and under the sleeves of his pajama shirt. He lifts it quickly and sees the pattern continue. He lifts the bottom of his shirt next and finds the same designs on his stomach. His heart hammers anxiously, confused. He returns back to staring at his nails, shakes his head, and scrambles to get out of bed. 

He needs a mirror. He needs to pace. He needs an explanation. The first of the three is the priority, so he heads into the bathroom and strips off his shirt in a single movement. It rips audibly as he tugs it off his head, but it's not his shirt nor his torso that captures his attention when he stands in front of the mirror—it’s his eyes. Bright, luminously yellow rings stand out on the black sclera, shocking and familiar. And just inches above them, jutting out from the brim of his forehead—horns. They twist upward, the pearlescent bone structure decorating the sides of his head as if they’ve always belonged there. 

They do belong there. 

No. Renzou shakes his head. This is wrong. 

The disorienting feeling tugs at him again, a full-bodied pang that makes his knees shake. He smiles through his panic, instinctively, but the sharp points of his teeth that stare back at him drains the blood out of his face.

Is this a dream? 

He stumbles out of the bathroom holding onto himself, grasping his elbows tight, wincing as his nails dig into his skin again. The pain is grounding. The wounds heal quickly. He doesn’t understand what’s happening and he hates—he loves—how everything is beginning to feel as if it’s slotting into place as the seconds tick by. The panic in his chest is at odds with the euphoria he feels as his senses drink in his surroundings. The colors of his Illuminati-assigned room are plain and militaristic, but they look crisper than ever today, sharp and uniform. The air is filled with a myriad of scents—the drying blood on his skin, the fresh linen scent on his clothes and bedsheets, the citrus-like cleaning product that had been used to clean the tall windows of his room. The sky outside is as endless as ever, patches of white clouds drifting in a sea of blue.

It’s beautiful. 

The sound of his door opening attracts his attention, the soft mechanical whirl clearly audible even through the spreading numbness filling his head.

Toudou stands at his entrance, smiling at him pleasantly. “Good morning,” he says without batting an eye at Renzou’s appearance. There is a vase in his arms, bright, cheerful daffodils filling it to the brim. “From the Commander,” he explains, noticing Renzou’s gaze. “How are you feeling?”

The question brings Renzou’s thoughts back to the problem at hand. 

“W-What…” he stammers. Even his voice sounds different. Deeper. Different, yet the same. “What’s wrong with me?” he whispers, not daring to speak any louder.

“What do you mean?” Toudou’s brow knits together, frustratingly so. Renzou bares his teeth in response without thinking. He throws his arms out, letting the weird patterns across the entirety of his skin be on full display.

“This!” he hisses. “Look at me!” he snaps, desperate, angry, confused. He isn’t sure which one wins out more than the other.

Regardless, Toudou is barely fazed. His eyes rove over Renzou, a casual glance that examines him from head to toe. “You’ve merged quite nicely,” he notes.

“Merged...?”

“Yes, of course.” Toudou’s smile widens. He walks into Renzou’s room in a calm stride and sets down the vase in his arms at his bedside before joining him, stopping straight in front of him. A handkerchief is tugged out of Toudou’s pocket, and the man reaches over to wipe away the blood trailing down from the closed wound on the back of Renzou’s head. 

“You took to it better than the rest of us. I’m almost jealous.” Toudou chuckles quietly. From this proximity, Renzou finds himself held in place by that fiery, luminous gaze. It’s as unnatural as the one Renzou saw in his own reflection. “But I suppose that’s to be expected given your background,” the man continues.

The words don’t make any sense to Renzou. (They make far too much sense.) Yet, they cause an echo to ripple in the back of his mind. Lucifer’s voice merges with Renzou’s own as they recite the pledge that led him down this path: 

_"Let's create a single world, one with neither demons nor humans.”_

Ah. Renzou understands. But understanding doesn’t bring him comfort. 

Somehow, Toudou’s too-warm hand, as it rests on his shoulder paternally, does.

“It’s a brand new world, Shima-kun. A brand new, wonderful world. Enjoy it. We’ve worked hard for it. And most importantly—isn’t this what you wanted?”


End file.
